


the center of it all

by Xparrot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Driving, Episode Tag, Episode: s13e05 Advanced Thanatology, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: Do you want me to drive?Sam almost asks. He knows what the answer would be. He almost asks anyway.





	the center of it all

**Author's Note:**

> Originally [posted on tumblr](http://idontneedasymbol.tumblr.com/post/167499588466).

_Do you want me to drive?_ Sam almost asks. He knows what the answer would be. He almost asks anyway.

He gets in the Impala, sinks into the well-worn seat. He feels like each limb weighs a thousand pounds, like the car should creak and bow under him, the tires deflate. 

He looks at his brother behind the wheel and almost asks, _Are you going to keep us on the road? In the right lane? Or are you going to swerve into an oncoming truck? Are you going to accelerate into a telephone pole?_

How long had Dean been carrying around that tin with the two syringes? If their previous case had been a murderous ghost after all instead of a shifter, would Dean have suggested talking to it then? Slammed a needle into his heart, counting on Sam to hold his own breath for three minutes while he communed with the other side. And if the second needle didn’t work—that was the job, wasn’t it. Hunting is a risky business, and it only ends one way.

_Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?_ Only Dean had—had been trying to, anyway. And Sam had been trying, too, only it wasn’t enough. Isn’t enough. Maybe there was something he could do, something that would actually work, if he could really remember what it felt like himself, to be happy.

At least he remembers that there’s something to aim for, that there’s something better than this. He’s been where Dean is, forgetting that there’s anything but hurt. When anything you do looks like a mistake, when any attempt to climb up just gives you that much longer a fall.

He should’ve looked for an easier hunt. He should’ve just suggested they stay in, get hammered watching old B-movies with Jack. He should’ve checked Dean’s bag for that tin he hadn’t known existed.

Miles roll away under the tires in silence. Sam reaches for the knob, turns on the Zeppelin in the tape deck, louder than he likes it.

As soon as he pulls his hand away, Dean turns the music back down. Flicks his eyes briefly to Sam and keeps it on, just low.

Dean puts both hands back on the wheel. They’re steady, for all the long night before.

Well, Dean got three minutes of rest. Almost four. Four more than Sam.

Dean’s not speeding, not more than usual, a steady ten miles over the limit. Matching the speed of the interstate’s midday traffic; no tailgating, no reckless dodging between lanes.

_If I close my eyes, will you still be here when I open them?_

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Curt, but that strained edge isn’t anger. He’s afraid of what Sam could ask him. Afraid of the answers he won’t be able to give, not with enough conviction for Sam to believe him.

But he’s driving them straight and safely down the highway. And the Impala’s been wrecked before, but never with Dean behind the wheel when Sam was next to him.

Some things you don’t need to believe in. Gravity keeps the planets going around the sun, no matter how many people once believed the Earth was the center of it all.

They’re on the road, and Dean will bring them home.

“Wake me for dinner,” Sam says, “it’s my turn to pick.” He slides down in the seat, leans his head against the cool window glass and lets his heavy eyelids fall shut.

(Three hundred fifty miles later, Dean’s phone rings.)


End file.
